


What Have I Done To Fall So Hard For You?

by alekstraordinary



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: And then he didn't, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale broke Crowley's heart, Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Heartbreak, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19438003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekstraordinary/pseuds/alekstraordinary
Summary: akaThree Times Aziraphale Broke Crowley's Heart And One Time He Didn't





	What Have I Done To Fall So Hard For You?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, ya boy is at it again! I still haven't brought myself to become emotionally well enough to rewatch this show, but all the fan content and the fan videos I watch for inspiration are definitely keeping the fire burning inside! Time for some bittersweetness. It's not actually anything new, this fic, because I'm pretty much only describing what we already know from the show, but ah. I had to describe all the emotions I thought were there!  
> The title is lyrics from the song "What Have I Done" by Anna Ternheim, and I highly recommend listening to it as you read!  
> Enjoy!

The first time Aziraphale broke Crowley's heart--or rather, the first time Aziraphale knowingly broke Crowley's heart--was in 1967, on a late, very late evening, in front of one of the many London bars. He did it in Crowley's own beloved Bentley which, at that time, wasn't considered vintage quite yet. It was certainly already an old car, but it would take another decade or two before it would earn its respectable "vintage" title. There weren't any Queen tapes inside of it either because, you see, there was no Queen, at least not for another three years. Frankly, there weren't many things that Crowley and Aziraphale would eventually grow to love in 1967 but they, of course, didn't know that. They didn't know what the world was going to bring in the next fifty-one years and perhaps, only perhaps, this frightening unawareness is exactly the reason why Aziraphale decided to break Crowley's heart.

One could think, and certainly so could we, that after knowing each other for such a long time--five thousand nine hundred and seventy one years to be precise--Aziraphale and Crowley would have grown at least slightly comfortable with, both, the nature of their relationship as well as the feelings said relationship brought. And, perhaps, if it wasn't for what had happened twenty six years prior, in 1941, this would still hold true, or truer than it had been before. It could have even rewrite the conversation that was about to happen inside of Bentley, and its quite unfortunate results. Maybe if it wasn't for the enlightenment that struck Aziraphale in the burning remains of an English church, he wouldn't feel so compelled--or scared into--doing what he was, inevitably, going to do that night. 

After all, what happened in 1941 shaped what happened in 1967, and what would later happen in 2018. In a way, the realization that came over Aziraphale in the middle of the night in 1941 would ultimately be the reason for what was about to happen in the Bentley. And--who knows--maybe if they had the opportunity to meet each other sometime between 1941 and 1967, maybe if Aziraphale's feelings weren't still so raw and exposed--and so utterly frightening--he wouldn't have to break Crowley's heart that night in 1967. Because, you see, what Aziraphale realized twenty six years before the first time he'd have to break Crowley's heart wasn't that he, an angel, was so deeply infatuated with Crowley, a demon. No, what he realized in 1941 was that, unbelievably so, Crowley loved him back. 

With that in mind, perhaps you're able to understand the surge of panic that arose in Aziraphale's entire being when he sensed... something laying underneath the "well, can I drop you anywhere?" Crowley spoke to him. Aziraphale didn't have the faintest shade of doubt in his mind that it was supposed to sound casual, nonchalant even, as Crowley's manner of being usually is, but he knew. He knew that there was more to it, he knew that there was a request in these words, yearning. He knew that Crowley knew. 

"No, thank you," he replied, then, trying to, so desperately trying to show Crowley to not push. That it wasn't the time. Not now. Not yet. That it was too dangerous. Too quick. Too sudden. Too terrifying. To just stop. "Oh, don't look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could... I don't know, go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz." 

But Crowley didn't listen. "I'll give you a lift," he said instead, insisting, begging. "Anywhere you want to go." 

If only he had listened... well. We are not God, so we do not know what would have happened if only Crowley had listened to Aziraphale's hopeless request. We don't even know if She knows what would have happened. We can only guess that if Crowley had listened, maybe Aziraphale wouldn't have to, very much knowingly, break his heart.

"You go too fast for me, Crowley." 

In the unusual silence of that particular London night in 1967, if you listened closely enough and paid attention to the shift of the wind, you would be able to hear a demon's heart crack, and tremble, and shiver, and give one last hopeful beat before shattering into pieces. And that, unfortunately, was the first time Aziraphale broke Crowley's heart. 

°•:*:•°

The second time Aziraphale--very much knowingly--broke Crowley's heart was exactly fifty-one years later, in 2018, during a rather gloomy, but very much typically English early evening, in a gazebo in the midst of their favourite St. James park. Coincidentally, it's the same park where, one hundred and fifty six years ago, they had gotten into such a disagreement over holy water--which equally coincidentally would later bring them in front of the bar in 1967--that it resulted in Crowley simply sleeping for a century. Aziraphale's way of coping was less subtle, as he decided to join Discreet Gentlemen's Club where he learned--and very much enjoyed--dancing the gavotte. Crowley didn't know about it, for his own sake, very much like he didn't know that coming to the park that afternoon would only bring him another heartbreak.

Although, truthfully, this time both of them had suspected this encounter wouldn't end quite as pleasantly as they would want it to. The last time... oh, the last time Crowley still had so much hope in him, and so did Aziraphale, even if the things they had hoped for were quite the opposite. That day, however, there was something ominous not only hovering over them but also at the backs of their heads, warning them to stay cautious during this conversation, to weigh every word wisely and pay attention to the tone. Even if their consciousness didn't, their unconscious knew what was going to happen, and did its best to prepare them for the impact. Even if it was all for nothing. 

Fear is quite an extraordinary thing, really. It can make you say things you don't want to in the place of the things you want to say the most, as well as push you into doing the things you don't want to instead of the ones you do want to. That is the curious thing about fear, it doesn't take away your judgement, nor does it cloud your priorities--it simply pushes itself in front of it all and takes the spotlight of the leading role, believing it is in your best interest. That this is self-preservation. That this will be best for everyone. 

As much as in 1967, at night, in the Bentley, there was some sort of bittersweet tragedy to the whole occurrence, in 2018, in the evening, in the park, there was no sweetness whatsoever. There was only bitter disappointment and sour regret and that awful, awful gut wrenching fear with a pang of salt, and completely hopeless pleading. And that's exactly what was ringing in Crowley's voice when he insisted he's unforgivable. When there was no answer on Aziraphale's part, he should have known that the intention he came here with are entirely pointless and whatever attempt he's going to make will be equally fruitless. But as curious and irrational fear might be, hope can easily compete.

When Crowley hissed "we're on our side," he was perfectly aware that this is the last argument he has, that this is the last desperate plea he can afford, the last--absolute last--chance to make sure that what Aziraphale had told him that night in 1967 wasn't rejection, but rather an ask to slow down. And so it was, even if he had no way of knowing it and caution was telling him to not bring this subject up again until Aziraphale is ready. The context was different that evening in St. James' park, and so were the settings, the time, and they themselves were different, yet at the same time, when those words left Crowley's mouth, they knew yet again. They knew that this isn't about the Armageddon anymore, that they aren't speaking of the doomsday. It was about them, like it always have been.

Crowley wasn't aware at that time--although he was going to learn it within seconds--but his insisting would, yet again, be the immediate reason for his heartbreak.

"There isn't an 'our side', Crowley," Aziraphale said and his voice trembled slightly at the very edges, no more than the face of the nearby pond barely touched by the lightest blow of wind, but he hoped that it was noticeable. He hoped Crowley could hear how sorry he was, how badly he didn't actually want to say all of this, but the fear was putting words in his mouth. "Not anymore. It's over." 

That, as you might have guessed, not only punched the air out of Crowley's demonic lungs--it also took the broken pieces serving him for a heart and broke them further, snapped into smaller pieces, stomped and crushed until it felt like there was a gallon of holy water in the middle of his chest. But, of course, he wouldn't let it be known. Even if he knew perfectly well that Aziraphale could sense his heartbreak, Crowley wouldn't bare himself again. "Right," he just said instead. "Well, then. Have a nice doomsday." 

That unusually warm but usually gloomy early evening in the St. James' park, there wasn't a single human soul--no children playing and no adults walking, no elders reading books and newspapers on wooden benches. However, if there was at least one person present there on that early evening, they would undoubtedly hear the second time Aziraphale broke Crowley's heart. 

°•:*:•°

The third time Aziraphale broke Crowley's heart... well, the third time it happened it very much wasn't knowingly, mostly because he simply wasn't there. One could argue that since it wasn't done on purpose, it shouldn't be taken into the account, or at the least the fault for it shouldn't be pinned on Aziraphale himself since, as stated, he wasn't there. However, ultimately what truly matters, like with everything in life, is the effect. The consequences. And in this case, during that surprisingly sunny afternoon in 2018, the consequence was, very much, Crowley's heartbreak. Frankly, seeing how the third one happened less than twenty-four hours after the second one, there wasn't much of his metaphorical heart left to be broken, but maybe that's what made it hurt even more. It wasn't much of a heartbreak, really, it was more like pouring gasoline over the shattered pieces and setting it on fire.

Ironically, fire is exactly what Crowley found when he parked his Bentley in the middle of the road in front of Aziraphale's bookshop. Or should we say--what was left of it anyway, with flames sticking out of the windows, devouring books and papers and climbing up the walls, trying to ashen anything they could have get a hold of. But it was just ordinary fire, wasn't it? There was no reason for Crowley to think otherwise--what would be hell fire doing in the middle of Soho in the light of the day with no demon in sight? No, no. It was just fire, plain, old, average fire, and as such, it wouldn't harm Aziraphale even if he was standing in the very heart of the conflagration. Unfortunately for Crowley, even listening to the voice of reason didn't stop the remains of his heart from beating violently, frantically even, when he saw the red and white flames eating at the bookshop. 

His pulse, his breathing, and all the other things he simply didn't need as a demon at all went collectively insane the second he stepped into the burning building, ignoring the shouts of firefighters and willing the door shut behind him. Even without being affected by all the smoke and heat inside, he could still feel tightness in his chest, scratching in his throat and wetness in his eyes as he looked around the crumbling space. Little did he know that it had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with being surrounded by flames. 

"Aziraphale!" Through the roar of the fire and screaming of firefighters outside, there was simply no possibility that anyone would be able to hear him. Perhaps it was for the better, because even he could barely hear how much his voice was breaking as his amber eyes wandered aimlessly around the burning shop. "Aziraphale!" each call was getting more desperate. "Where the Heaven are you? You idiot!" He was nowhere to be found and the cracking of charred wood and sizzling paper was being slowly drowned out by the frenzied hum of blood in his ears. "For Go-- for Sa-- for somebody's sake, where are you?"

In all the panic, confusion and fear, Crowley barely even noticed being knocked off his feet by a stream of water shooting into the bookshop from one of the broken windows. Aziraphale should be here, but he wasn't. "Aziraphale?" he tried one, last time with as much broken hope as he had yesterday. They could have gone off together. They could have ran away together. They could have been safe together. But they weren't. And it appeared they were never going to be.

We are not Crowley on that afternoon of 2018, so naturally, we do know that Aziraphale is not, in fact, dead. We know that he and Crowley would be reunited rather soon and that their unfortunate separation wouldn't take as much as one day. Sadly, he had no way of knowing that, and in that very moment, he was absolutely convinced that he lost the only person he has ever cared about. He went through the rage phase here and there, of course, as his personality dictated, but it was one weak surge rather than a proper crash of emotions. He was in too much of a shock of what had happened to properly process the situation, it seemed. And who could blame him? 

Leaving the remains of Aziraphale's bookshop, all Crowley could feel was... nothing. The inside of his chest also felt like there was nothing there. Like the fire that took Aziraphale burned out also the remains of his heart. It was a nice day. And, unknowingly, in the middle of a raging fire, for the third time, Aziraphale broke Crowley's heart.

°•:*:•°

The fourth time Aziraphale broke Crowley's heart... well. He didn't. The fourth time was actually the first time Aziraphale _didn't_ break Crowley's heart. You probably guessed already that this, too, took place in 2018. It would be easier for us to wrap a bow around all of this if it, too, came down to only one happening, but unfortunately for us, the first time Aziraphale didn't break Crowley's heart wasn't a single occurrence, it wasn't a single happening, it wasn't a single event. It was a series of smaller, shorter ones, and each one was slowly repairing the damage the first three heartbreaks did. We can, however, pinpoint at least two most important moments when, hidden under other statements, Crowley and Aziraphale told each other what they were yearning to say for six thousand and twenty-two years.

First time was late at night, when the sun has long set and stars dusted the sky high above a bus stop bench in the middle of Tadfield. It was a quiet night, right after the almost-Apocalypse, and given the events of the day, the silence between Crowley and Aziraphale seemed especially impenetrable. That didn't stop them from talking, obviously, and it certainly didn't stop Crowley from asking. He knew that this would be the last time he dared to ask--knew that if this time Aziraphale was to reject him again, there would be no further attempts, no further requests. He'd have to make his peace with burning quietly for the rest of his existence. So when the "you could stay at my place, if you like," finally left his lips, he thought that this is exactly what's going to happen now. That six thousand and twenty two years had been for nothing and he would be left with the emptiness in his chest for the rest of the world.

Maybe it's good that the bus heading back to London decided to approach them in that very moment, because it gave him the answer that Aziraphale clearly couldn't denounce. The look on his face should have been enough for Crowley to understand, but after so long and after so many heartbreaks, he needed something more. So when that night, Aziraphale did, in fact, accept Crowley's offer... words didn't seem necessary. 

Second time was more direct, although for us it might still look far from it, still look like they were dancing around a confession, but for them, it was more than enough. The second time was at Ritz, at the place they only reserved for special occasions, and not only because how prestigious the restaurant itself was. The first time they dined there, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square, which, of course, most wasn't aware of and its song was mostly choked by the business of the city, but it made this place so much more special for them. Little did they know that on this particular night, when they've exchanged their "to the world"--which meant so much more than just that--a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square again.

And--who knows?--perhaps the Armageddon't was only supposed to take place so Aziraphale wouldn't have to break Crowley's heart again, but heal and embrace it instead. 


End file.
